


down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em

by acetheticallyy (jacquesdernier)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5000107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquesdernier/pseuds/acetheticallyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the kind of man you told. Over and over again, until he told you to stop. And even then, at least once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this was a prompt fill over on tumblr that was "speirs/lipton + things you said when you thought I was sleeping"
> 
> 2\. I know second person is everyone's least favorite pov but I don't really care bc I LOVE IT
> 
> 3\. the title is from "helpless" from the hamilton broadway cast recording, bc I am nothing if not pure 100% hamiltrash
> 
> 4\. most importantly, no disrespect is meant in anyway and this fic is based purely off the actors' portrayals within the miniseries, not the men themselves

There's this thing he does when he sleeps where his hand sort of reaches out a little bit and he doesn't stop until it's resting somewhere against your body. You think it's cute, but of course you'd never admit that out loud. Actually, you think  _he's_ cute, period, but you'd never admit  _that_ out loud, either. Nixon would never let you hear the end of it, as if he has any room to talk.

You really wish you could tell him--Lipton, not Nix (although you would like to tell Nix a few choice words here and there). He deserves to know what he means to you, what he is, where he stands. But every time you open your mouth, something else comes out. For what it's worth, you think he already knows; it's there in the way his eyes light up when you put a hand on his shoulder or swing your legs over his when you're up too late watching old sitcoms on the living room couch. Still though, you wish you could say it. You wish that whenever your mouth opened, the right words came out, and he would finally know. Because Lipton, well...he was the kind of man you told. Over and over again, until he told you to stop. And even then, at least once more.

And yeah, he probably knows--he's always been more aware than he let on. But he deserves to hear it  _out loud_.

Oh you can say it to yourself, sure. That's no problem at all, you've done it a million times. You've repeated it time and time again in your head like a mantra, said it to yourself in the mirror more times than was probably strictly necessary. But for some reason, when he's there...when he's looking at you, nothing but pure trust and adoration in his eyes, you can't do it. You don't know what it is, it just doesn't happen.

Maybe you're afraid that if you tell him, he'll finally notice. He'll finally notice that he deserves the whole  _world_ , and beyond that someone who can actually tell him, every day, without freezing up and without any hesitation, what he truly means to them. You can't give him that. You know it. You'd like to, but you can't; you've never been good with feelings, not when it matters. God, if he could hear you right now, he'd roll his eyes and tell you to "shut up, Ron, you don't have a clue what you're talking about." It's a comforting thought. It makes you laugh.

You think that probably you don't deserve him, but you're selfish enough that you're not going to do anything about it. You'll be damned if you let The Best Thing That's Ever Happened to You slip through your fingers that easily.

You love him, _g_ _od_ do you love him. If only you could say it. If only you could lean over him in the morning just as he wakes up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and gently whisper "I love you" before lightly touching your lips to his hairline. He pretends to hate it when you kiss his hairline--his nose scrunches up and everything. That's why you keep doing it.

Perhaps it might be easiest to start small, to see if you'e capable of saying it  _to_ him at all. So you take a deep breath. You turn your head, look at him lying next to, at his index finger lightly hooked around yours. You make sure he's asleep. And you say it. And  _wow_ , does that feel great to say, to finally,  _finally_ get the words to come unstuck from your throat. Maybe you get a little carried away after that, but you're not sure you really care.

It all comes falling from your lips, the words rolling off your tongue so smoothly you wonder how you ever could have hesitated before, how it was so hard to get the words out. It's beautiful, freeing, and you kind of wish he was awake, so he could hear, so he could know, but you're glad he isn't. The words aren't as eloquent as they could be, there are probably more curse words than are necessary, and you're basically running off adrenaline at this point, rattling off the list you've kept in your head all these years. The list of everything you love about him, everything that you keep close to your heart. It's a startlingly long list.

You start with that thing he does when he's asleep, where he reaches out a hand until he finds you. His overwhelming loyalty, how he always stands strong beside the people he cares about but doesn't once let anyone walk all over him in the process. You talk about the way he locks and re-locks the doors at night, just for you, because he knows you worry about it sometimes. The way you know he's pouring  _himself_ a cup of coffee in the morning, but once you walk into the kitchen he adds an extra spoonful of sugar and hands it off to you before getting himself another mug from the cupboard. The list goes on for god only knows how long and you think you should probably be embarrassed, know you would be if anyone were awake to hear it. But no one  _can_ hear you. So you keep going.

You keep going until your mouth goes dry, and even longer after that. And then, eventually, you have run out of things to say. Miracle of miracles, you've said every thought that's ever crossed your mind to tell him but you never had the courage to say out loud.

And then you hear a rustling. Just the soft shift of the sheets changing shape, but you notice. And when you look over, he his on his side and his eyes are shining, and as half-asleep as he appears, there is a smile playing on his lips that looks about ready to split his face in two. You've been caught. Probably he was never asleep in the first place, he's always said that your thoughts wake him up at night. Probably he started out asleep and your voice woke him up, it's not like you were regulating your volume anyway.

Either way, your heart is racing. But here's the catch: it's not in a bad way at all. It's not anxiety that squeezes your heart, it's not fear that makes it skip a beat. No, actually, it's relief.  _Elation_ , even, you could say. This whole time the only thing that had been holding you back was yourself. He'd probably call you an idiot, if he knew, and he would be right. You're glad you've finally said it. You're glad he finally knows. For real this time, out loud and everything. It feels nice.

Before you're aware of it, your mouth is turning up at the corners, too, and there's nothing stopping you when you say, "I love you." And this time, you know he's awake and it means so much more. You say it again. You will keep saying it, over and over again, until he tells you to stop. And even then, at least once more.


End file.
